untitled
by Ensignily
Summary: friday march 23 2018 • • • based off the bad ending of farewell my turnabout


It was a Friday when Phoenix Wright won his final case. The sky was overcast and it was due to rain soon. The wind swept up leaves and bird feathers and litter and all other forgotten things left on the ground.

The sound of the gavel was the last thing Phoenix heard before everything stopped. The Judge's cry of "not guilty" were the last words he heard before all voices started sounding the same. The entire world stopped. The courtroom shrunk around him and all the voices faded away until he could only feel the pressure in his chest, so intense that his hands shook and vision blurred and his legs, mind, body, and soul were all screaming _run, run, run._

Isolated voices broke through his ears: someone that sounded like Mia or Pearl or both crying out his name, an exclamation of _Wright!_ from the prosecution, the voices of the audience murmuring _what's wrong? Didn't he win? Didn't he get what he wanted?;_ but none of the voices stopped him from running. He was whipped in the back as he passed the witness stand, but that still didn't stop him from running. Nor did the heavy courtroom doors, the press and cameras waiting outside, or the light glittering rain stop him from running.

 _Why am I running? Didn't I get what I wanted?_

He ignored his ringing phone. He ignored the worsening rain. He ran until he ended up back at his office. His clothes were soaked, the AC was cold, and the couch would certainly be ruined if he sat on it, but he did anyways. His phone buzzed until he threw it across the room. He sat in the dark with his head in his hands for what could have been days.

 _I got a complete acquittal. Maya is safe. Didn't I get what I wanted?_

A few hours later, he got up and made a cup of coffee. There was no food in the office, just a coffee maker and a microwave and a lost package of instant ramen that Gumshoe'd probably left. Phoenix held his coffee mug close to his body and sat on a dry cushion of the couch. As it reached early afternoon, the rain had slowed to a trickle. By late afternoon, it was overcast again.

At some point (whether it was a few hours later or a few days later, Phoenix couldn't tell), he had some visitors knocking at his door. He didn't answer.

 _Hey, pal! You in there…?_ **Knock knock knock.** _We're looking all over for you!_ **Knock knock knock.** _I've got Mr. Edgeworth with me!_ **Knock knock knock.**

 _I don't think he'll be particularly excited to hear that, detective._

 _Don't say that Mr. Edgeworth! Try calling again._

 _…. It just goes straight to voicemail._

 _Ugh, I guess he's not here. D'ya happen to know where he lives?_

 _Why would I know? We should just leave him alone; he'll show his face again when he's ready._ Edgeworth didn't mention that he could smell the coffee from outside the office, but urged Gumshoe to leave anyways.

The afternoon dipped into evening and the evening dipped into night. It was still overcast. There was no sunset; it was just dark. Neither Maya nor Pearl had shown up. Phoenix could only assume that Maya was free and safe. De Killer was a man of his word, after all.

Phoenix didn't sleep at all.

The next morning, his office phone rang. He let it ring. All noises sounded the same. It went to voicemail.

 _Wright. I'm almost certain you're hearing this right now, sitting in your office and ignoring the phone. I've called to let you know that Maya is safe; she's been released and has since eaten up all of the food in my office. I've also had the other Fey with me since yesterday, and I hear they will both be returning to their village shortly. I… do not think she wishes to see you. I'm sorry.…_  
 _Through this trial, I hope you've learned what it means to be a lawyer. You won, you retained your perfect record, and yet… I sense something has overcome you. I trust that you will soon leave your office and face the world again, and if you don't, I may be forced to come and drag you out myself. However, I doubt you'd want that, so I suggest you do it yourself.…_  
 _This was not the ideal ending, was it, Wright? I hope there is a world where everything fits into place but… I am not sure if that exists. Not everything will turn out the way we want it to.…_  
 _Anyways, I have some work to attend to. Call if you wish to speak. Everyone has confidence in you._

With that, he hung up.

That was the last time Phoenix would ever hear Edgeworth's voice.

He made another cup of coffee.

A few days passed.

It was still overcast by Tuesday, and the forecast said it would remain all week. Meaningless news followed after the weather just like every other day – a robbery here, a traffic accident there.

Then: Adrian Andrews Found Guilty of Killing Matt Engarde.

Phoenix turned off the news. He made another cup of coffee.

 _What it means to be a lawyer…._

Phoenix doesn't have that answer.

By Wednesday, he got no more calls, got no more visits, watched no more news, and had no more coffee. He figured if Maya or Pearl really wanted to see him, they would've come by now. She did say she'd never forgive him if he'd gotten that "creepy slimebag" a not guilty… guess she's sticking to her claims for once.

It was six days after Phoenix ran from the courtroom. He was still in the same clothes. He hadn't gone home. He hardly had any sleep. He hardly had any food. It was Thursday when he finally made the instant ramen.

He spent his time deep in thought – or maybe not thinking at all; it was hard to tell. Time passed by staring mindlessly out the window at the rainy city, letting thoughts pass through his mind like the busy intersections down below. He didn't feel. The most he felt was the emptiness in his chest where the pressure of the courtroom used to be. The most he felt was the guilt that came in place of the guilty verdict he failed to get.

Failed. Hah. As if he were a prosecutor.

Phoenix… was a lawyer.

But what _is_ a lawyer?

A lawyer is someone that sides with justice. A lawyer is someone that defends what's right, not just the defendant; someone who doesn't fight for personal gain or for a perfect record.

Phoenix wanted to believe he could be someone like that, but he failed. Adrian Andrews was convicted for something she didn't do. A murder she didn't commit. Adrian had already suffered enough: her dependent committed suicide and she herself attempted to follow in her footsteps. She worked for a man she hated and forced herself into a relationship with another, and now she'd be an innocent sent to jail. All because of Phoenix.

Matt Engarde was a filthy man with an innocent façade who took advantage of others and threw them out when he was done. He led women to suicide. He manipulated others. He hired an assassin to kill his rival and even dared to betray his assassin's trust. He was a textbook sociopath guilty of murder who gets to walk free. All because of Phoenix.

 _I am no lawyer._

Phoenix failed to prove himself because he relied on a miracle. He relied on a miracle he couldn't make happen. He relied on a miracle that didn't exist.

And then it was Friday.

Phoenix tidied up the office, picked up his phone for the first time in a week, put on his coat, and headed out. The sky was still overcast and it was due to rain soon. The wind swept up leaves and bird feathers and litter and all other forgotten things left on the ground. Phoenix drifted with the wind and wandered the streets alone.

Phoenix no longer ran. He stopped running – instead, he walked. He wandered; he drifted; he roamed aimlessly through the city under the cloudy sky and humid air. He hardly ate. He hardly slept. He kept on walking for what might have been days.

 _This was not the ideal ending, was it, Wright? I hope there is a world where everything fits into place but… I am not sure if that exists. Not everything will turn out the way we want it to._

Phoenix gazed up at the sky. Not even a peek of blue behind all the clouds. _No, Edgeworth,_ he said to the sky, _It doesn't exist._

And then it was Friday.

Humidity rose as the rain continued to roll in. It had been storming since Wednesday in both the sky and in Phoenix.

He hated Matt Engarde. He hated Matt Engarde with a burning passion so intense that he could evaporate the entire country's rainy spring weather with pure hatred alone. He steered clear of all TVs and radios so he wouldn't have to hear his name ever again. Phoenix hated Matt Engarde for being the disgusting human being he was. He hated Shelly De Killer for making Matt Engarde his client and putting his complete trust in him without ever knowing he betrayed him. He hated Shelly De Killer for kidnapping Maya and holding her hostage and making Phoenix get the complete acquittal. He hated Detective Gumshoe for getting into an accident at such a crucial time. He hated Franziska von Karma for taking so long to get to the courtroom. He hated Mia Fey for not being direct. He hated Miles Edgeworth for leaving a year ago and coming back the way he did. He hated the Judge for being on his side for once yet still only giving him one chance.

But most of all, he hated himself. Phoenix Wright hated himself because he presented the wrong evidence. He hated himself because he got Matt Engarde acquitted and Adrian Andrews arrested. He hated himself because he won the trail. He hated himself because he couldn't make the "miracle" happen. He hated himself because he believed in that "miracle" in the first place.

And then it was Friday.

The air was so thick. Phoenix struggled to walk forward as if he had to slice through the humidity keep going. The dark skies and muggy air made him feel groggy, and exhaust weighed him down. His body and mind felt heavier and heavier every day.

And then it was Friday.

He got food. He ate at whichever restaurant was the closest – sometimes fast food, sometimes a bar, sometimes just a convenience store. Sleep was fitful but tolerable. He slept wherever sleep landed him – sometimes a hotel, sometimes the train, sometimes the park. Money was starting to run short.

And then it was Friday.

Phoenix found himself at the beach. The sunset peeked through the clouds and glittered against the water, painting the waves a delicate orange and purple. Sand got in his shoes as he walked, but he didn't care. It was the first time something didn't appear in black and white. The calming waves were the first thing that didn't sound like white noise. Land breeze picked up as the earth got darker. City lights blinded the sky and clouds blocked the stars. Still, the air was comfortable and salty and the waves rhythmically rolled to shore. The world was forgiving of him, but Phoenix Wright was not.

 _I can never forgive myself. I can never forgive this world we live in._

And then it was Friday.

And it was Friday.

And it was Friday.

And it was Friday on May 18th when Edgeworth finally decided to break into Wright's office. He did not bring Gumshoe or a brigade of officers as he initially thought he would – he went alone, accompanied only by his trusty lock pick. The office was relatively clean, yet smelled like wet dog and was suspiciously devoid of coffee. He walked into the next room, where he found a single note left on the desk. He picked up the slip of paper and his entire chest imploded in on itself. It was like a bullet flew through his heart and he couldn't breathe and the world shrunk around him and everything just _hurt so so badly._ The note slipped between Edgeworth's fingers and fluttered to the ground, leaving him unsure of what to do with his clammy hands or frozen body or aching chest that had just been hit with a ton of bricks.

He went and sat down on the couch to collect himself. The note still lay on the ground:

 _Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright chooses death._


End file.
